The stranger climbed the bell ropes and gave a rousing demonstration of his ringing skills, sounding the bells such as they had not been heard at Notre Dame in the past two years. Preparing to bring the round of ringing to a fitting finale, the stranger swung on a secondary bell rope and leapt for the rope of the main, 13-tonne bell. Unfortunately his grasp missed, and he fell, landing head first on another of the great bells, which knocked him senseless. As the bell sounded with the impact, the man plummeted to the floor of the cathedral, where he gasped his last breath in front of the horrified archbishop. The deacon of the cathedral rushed over to assist, asking the archbishop who the strange man was.

The archbishop replied, "I don't know, but his face rings a bell."

Another two years passed, in which the bells of Notre Dame remained silent once more. Until the day when another man showed up at the archbishop's office. He too was horribly disfigured, but claimed to be an experienced bellringer, like his brother before him, who had died so tragically two years earlier. The archbishop, by now desperate for someone to resume the ringing duties for the great cathedral, asked him to show his skill.

The stranger climbed the bell ropes and rang the bells so beautifully that it brought the archbishop to tears. For miles around Notre Dame, the people of Paris, hearing the bells, knew joy as they had not known for years. Bringing his triumphant round of ringing to a finish, the stranger jumped from one bell rope to another, but he too misjudged and lost his grip, falling head first on to a secondary bell and then falling the height of the tower to his doom. He died on the spot, again before the distraught figure of the archbishop. The deacon raced to the scene, and asked the archbishop who this new man was.

The archbishop solemnly intoned, "I don't know, but he's a dead ringer for his brother."